


morning's when i think about you

by iksnilits



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iksnilits/pseuds/iksnilits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn wakes up with harry next to him, and harry does not have a dick anymore.. 2k of what is essentially all porn</p>
            </blockquote>





	morning's when i think about you

**Author's Note:**

> warning for mention of a drugged drink that essentially caused the sex swap. also for strong language, sexual and otherwise, and unsafe (uncondomed) sex. i'm pretending zayn is single here.
> 
> also.. casual cissexism? i tried really hard to not equate genitals with gender so please let me know if I have mistepped. 
> 
> title from Jeremih's Fuck U all the Time, which i felt was applicable

Zayn’s halfway into that foggy state of almost-sleep. He’s in a forest, somewhere cool and quiet, his head pillowed on a patch of grass. It’s starting to snow. The flakes land and vibrate, each one a soft buzz that he feels along the outline of his body - one lands near his cheek, startling him. And another, under his fingertips, more urgent.

It’s his phone. 

He squints blearily at the screen, bright light sending little jabs of pain through his eyes. Harry Styles (2). 

_you awake ?  
can i come over_

Zayn groans. 

_Fine_

he texts back, throwing his phone onto the nightstand. it makes an awful crunching noise, which Zayn winces at but doesn’t bother poking his arm out to check. He closes his eyes, burrowing his nose back into the slightly bleach-scented blankets. It’s only a moment until Harry’s knocking on the door that separates their hotel rooms. Zayn gets up to open it, yanking at his grey underwear where they’ve ridden up into the creases of his thighs.

He doesn’t say anything as he lets the door swing open for Harry, just squints in the bright light and makes for the bed. Harry still hasn’t said anything - Zayn holds up a corner of the beige satin-rimmed blanket and flaps it at Harry. 

“C’mere,” Zayn says, his voice thick with sleep. 

Harry climbs over after shutting off the light, tripping over the carpet on his way in. Zayn turns away, hoping that Harry will go to sleep, won’t want to talk about whatever he did earlier that night, and Harry, blissfully, keeps his mouth shut, choosing to place a couple ice-cold fingers on Zayn’s spine. Zayn would yell, but he’s too tired. 

Harry takes this as encouragement, and wraps his long, ice-frosted limbs around the rest of Zayn’s body. He’s fucking freezing. Zayn, who has spent the last five hours creating the optimal cocoon temperature in his nest of blankets, is understandably mad. 

Harry presses his cheek to the back of Zayn’s neck, effectively spooning all the warmth out of him, and lets out a huge, shuddering breath. 

Zayn holds his own breath for a second, listening. 

“Y’alright?”

He thinks he feels Harry nod against him, feels a wet flutter of eyelash against his skin, a thin drip down his shoulderblade. He squeezes Harry’s thumb, all he can reach without moving, wanting to say more but drifting back into sleep.

+++

Zayn slips awake to a filmy kind of light filtering through the curtains. Sunday - their day off. He stretches, feeling hands unstick from where they lay sweaty against his ribs. He loves waking up lazy like this. He’ll probably go back to sleep for another half hour, wake up again, do it over, then crawl to the shower for another half hour or so under the hot water. Then maybe a nap.

Next to him, Harry groans, stretches, and snuggles back against Zayn, scooching closer under the sheet. He presses his whole body along Zayn, who rolls to keep his morning wood out of the way - give him just a couple more minutes and he’ll cuddle back. 

And along his back, Zayn feels the full press of breasts, thin fingers trailing back over his hip, the nudge of a long leg at his calf. 

Harry snores on.

In an uncharacteristic show of early-morning speed, Zayn flips over, tangling the sheets around his legs. 

There lies Harry, naked as the morning sun and spread out along the sheets. And definitely not Harry-with-a-dick. Fuck.

It’s still obviously Harry. Curly brown hair, long, long lashes sprayed against his cheeks, moles and freckles dotting his skin. Long, gangly limbs that look more in place on this body than they did on the other. Right, and this Harry has tits. Fucking huge, heavy-looking tits with big gorgeous pink nipples and freckles between them. Zayn, bless him, tries to look away, but instead gets distracted by Harry’s legs, which are tan and sparkling with hair, and Zayn should not be getting hard. 

Zayn cannot deal with this right now. 

Harry blinks awake, his lips puffy and the same color as his nipples, Zayn notices offhandedly. 

He smiles, all feminine and feline, still the same but on a softer face. Zayn _really_ cannot deal with this. 

“Harry,” he says.  
“Hmm?” Harry says.

“Harry,” Zayn says, more urgently. 

“Oh,” Harry says, looking down at his breasts. “ _Oh_ ,” and he palms at the curly reddish-brown hair between his thighs. “Fuck,” he says, eyes wide. 

Zayn has no idea what to do. 

“Um,” he says. 

Harry looks up at him, his bottom lip caught between little white teeth. “Fuck,” he says again, but this time he’s grinning like a loon, pinching at his nipples, cupping his tits in two big hands and shoving a hand between his legs. 

“Could you not do that while I’m naked in bed next to you,” Zayn says, overwhelmed by the baby-powder sweet smell of Harry’s skin. 

“This is so fucking cool,” Harry says, laughing. “What the fuck? Zayn,” he says, grabbing at Zayn’s hand and pressing it to a breast. “Check this out! I have tits!”

“You do,” Zayn says, pained. “Tits, you got ‘em.”

Harry looks like a wet dream, honestly. Zayn’s hand is still cupping Harry’s right breast, full and heavy in his palm. He strokes a thumb over the tight pink areola - it’s impossibly soft, little thin hairs circling the edges, Harry’s nipple going solid under his press. This is nothing like the other Harry. The little slope of his stomach, the tattoos, the half-lidded eyes - that's all Harry, though. Zayn feels like he should have noticed this.

“Oh,” Harry lets out, somewhere between a gasp and an out-breath. 

Zayn looks up. Harry’s pupils have overflowed into the green of his eyes; he’s bit his lips pink and swollen. He realizes, slowly, that he’s hard, pressing into the soft curve of Harry’s hip, leaning over slightly where Harry’s still got a hand pinned between his legs. 

“Harry,” he says, in a kind of daze. He’s not even fully awake, and so much is being asked of him. 

“Please,” Harry says, his eyes fluttering closed as Zayn’s fingers involuntarily pinch shut around his nipple. “I had this - this really pink drink last night, don’t know who gave it to me.”

Zayn shudders, and there’s so much he wants to do with this new body. 

“Yeah,” he gets out, and Harry’s pulling him in by the back of his neck for a soft kiss. He tastes like sugar, and sleep, and then Harry sucks on his tongue, wet and tight and Zayn is gone.  
“Yes, fuck,” Harry moans as Zayn slides his hands down Harry’s body, scraping the soft, new skin with his fingernails, grabbing handfuls of his hips and tits and pressing his thumbs into the scoops of his hips, blood rushing hot through his body. 

Harry shoves a nipple in Zayn’s face, almost taking an eye out, rubbing it into Zayn’s lips until Zayn gets his mouth around it, circling his tongue around the soft skin, nipping every other time and soothing it with swipes of his tongue. 

“Please,” Harry says, squirming under Zayn’s hands and drawing his knees up on the mattress. Zayn almost combusts, and thanks fuck that Harry is so earth-bunny and into yoga, because his thighs are flat against the bed but also up by his sides and everything is so, so open and pink and wet for him. 

“Zayn,” Harry pants, running long fingers through Zayn’s hair. “Fuck, please, I need you - need something in me, please.” His voice is absolutely wrecked, shaky and high and he’s flushed from his ribs up to his face, pink and panting. Zayn wants to wreck him more. 

“Stay still,” he says, amazed that he can even speak. Zayn runs his fingers light, teasing down Harry’s tits, down his ribs, across the little soft curve of his stomach and straight down his hips into the hair at the tops of his thighs. Harry’s legs are still spread wide and Zayn can almost taste the sweet, wet smell of him. 

Zayn presses kisses to the insides of Harry’s thighs, soft and dusted with hair, then bites at the thin skin, leaving red bruises in his path. Harry’s trembling with the effort of holding his legs up like this. Zayn drifts a finger down the center of Harry’s pussy, catching on the folds of him - he’s absolutely dripping, and Zayn dips a finger inside his wet heat as he seals his lips around Harry’s clit. 

Harry about throws Zayn off, he pulls his hips up so fast. “Zayn,” he cries, and Zayn pins his thighs to the bed, pushing down with all his strength as he alternates between teasing Harry’s clit with his tongue and lips and fucking Harry’s gorgeous cunt with short pulls of his tongue. Harry tastes so fucking good. Zayn wonders, for a second, if this is how his dick would taste on his tongue, hot and heavy and dripping precome. 

Harry is writhing above him, hands fisted in Zayn’s hair and scratching at his shoulders. Zayn is so hard he can’t think straight, rubbing against the edge of the bed and dripping embarrassingly. 

“Zayn,” Harry says again, sounding like he’s gonna cry. “Please, your fingers - “

“You want my fingers, babe?” Zayn asks, sounding far away even to his own ears. “You’re gonna have to work for ‘em.” 

He lets go of Harry’s legs, which bloom red with his fingerprints. He rests two fingers right inside Harry’s cunt and waits. 

Harry looks down at him, eyes so wide, completely pupil. Zayn smirks, and finally palms at his dick with his other hand. He’s gonna come in about two seconds if he ever gets inside Harry, and Harry will never let him live it down. 

Harry has absolutely no shame, starts shoving down onto Zayn’s hand and circling his hips in a mesmerizing pattern. He’s so, so tight and so wet, clenching on Zayn’s fingers. Zayn angles a third finger up so the next time Harry fucks down onto him - Harry moans, long and loud, gasping at the feeling of three and reaching down to press a couple fingers to his clit. 

Zayn smacks his hand away, crouching back down to fuck Harry on his fingers and lick down and around Harry’s cunt, pressing his tongue up alongside his fingers and making Harry groan even louder, flicking up the length of him to tongue at his clit. 

“Fuck me, god, Zayn, please,” Harry gets out, watching Zayn slide a hand down over his dick to take the edge off. 

“Yeah,” Zayn pants, and rubs the head of his dick through the red, hot folds of Harry’s cunt, pressing slick through Harry’s wetness. He’s holding his breath - Harry’s almost shaking beneath him, trying to shove his hips down onto Zayn’s cock. 

Zayn’s trying to go slow. He slips the head of his dick into Harry’s unbelievably tight cunt, hot around him. He’s meaning to give it to Harry one inch at a time, really make him beg for it - but Harry wraps his legs around the small of Zayn’s back, pulling him in and Zayn slides all the way in, sinking up so they’re locked together. 

Zayn almost comes right then and there, almost out of his mind with how good Harry feels around him. Harry is so, so pink, pinching his tits with both hands and scrabbling at Zayn’s back. 

“Fuck me,” he gasps, spreading his legs open and squeezing tighter around Zayn. Zayn does, fucks Harry as hard and as slow as he can, burying his head in Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s shaking, getting quieter and quieter with each slick slide of Zayn’s dick in his cunt. He's got a hand wedged between them, rubbing at his clit fast and uncoordinated, until he finally gasps out Zayn’s name, pulsing tight around him and Zayn can feel a warm slick cover his dick inside Harry. Harry's panting, eyes screwed shut and he clings onto Zayn's back with what feels like all of his strength.

“Fuck,” Zayn grits out, and flips Harry so he’s facedown in the pillows, his little ass up in the air and his pink asshole all tight above his red, dripping pussy. _god,_ Zayn thinks wildly, _this is what he'd look like, this is it, this,_ and then he digs his fingers into Harry’s asscheeks, pulling them apart and driving his cock deeper into Harry, once, twice, then pulling out to come, shaking, all over Harry’s ass and thighs, white against the folds of his cunt. 

“Goddamn,” Zayn says, voice shaky, pulling Harry’s tshirt off the floor to clean them off. Harry slumps to the bed, grinning maniacally. 

They fall asleep, Zayn carefully trying not to think about it too much and Harry with a hand between his legs again, feeling where he’s red and puffy and fucked out. 

“Still have no idea what I’m gonna do,” Harry says, after waking up the second time. He runs a couple fingers along the edges of Zayn's lips, cool and slow. 

“S’okay, don’t worry about it too much,” Zayn mumbles, ducking again under the covers to push his tongue between Harry’s legs.


End file.
